They were the same color, after all, as Bellusdeo’s.
* * *
“We must retreat,” the Arcanist said. Out and down were much closer than in, at this point—but none of them could fly. “The Emperor is not going to be happy to see your confederate’s sword.”
“Probably not,” Kaylin replied. “But it’s not like he doesn’t know she owns it. And she’s not going to be his big concern at the moment.”
No. That was reserved for the outcaste, who at last shed the Aerian form and its resultant wings. He seemed to absorb all darkness, all natural shadow in the cavern, as he shifted into the Draconic form; he was ebony to the Emperor’s indigo and Bellusdeo’s gold.
The Aerians who had served him froze for a moment—but only a moment. Clearly, he had never gone full Dragon in their sight before. But their faith in him, such as it was, appeared to be unshaken. They obviously believed he was capable of miracles.
They had called himpraevolo.
He wasn’t. That was owned by Moran.
“You can’t fly,” Kaylin once again said to the Arcanist. “How far can you run?”
The Arcanist wasn’t stupid. As the Emperor roared, as the outcaste roared back, he answered in the only practical way possible. He ran. Kaylin wasn’t far behind; Severn took and held the rear. The weapon chain could interrupt Dragon fire; when the wall was spinning, there wasn’t much in the way of magic that could get through it.
The one great thing about having Dragons and Barrani as friends? They were far, far less likely to die than Kaylin herself. She could, without guilt, worry about her own survival when the breathing started.
“You are so boring,” a familiar voice said as Mandoran stepped into the hall. He raised one brow. “We’re going to have problems,” he continued, as if he were talking about light afternoon rain.
“More problems than outcaste Dragons?”
“Well, no. But...”
“Mandoran. If you’ve got something to say, say it now.”
“He’s more like us.”
She almost tripped over her feet.
“I mean, not like us, exactly. But...he’s a Dragon the way we’re Barrani.” He winced. “Sorry. Sedarias is pissed off. Also, she hates it when I think in Elantran. Speak in Elantran,” he amended. He winced again. “She says I don’t think at all.”
Kaylin had only briefly met Sedarias, and was grateful that Sedarias was in the West March and not here. On the other hand, she couldn’t imagine the composed, regal and controlled Barrani woman making a hash of things. Or getting stuck in a wall.
“Skip the reasons Sedarias thinks you’re an idiot, or we’ll be here all day. What is he doing?”
“Annarion is trying to head him off—but he can move the way we move, and, um, he’s had more practice at it.”
“You did it for centuries.”
“Yes—then. But we didn’t have to come back. We didn’t have to interact with the rest of the world or its many cages. He does, and can. He can do it much more easily than we can.”
“Meaning he won’t get stuck in walls.”
Mandoran grimaced. “Not accidentally, no.”
“Why did you say we’ve got a problem?”
“Because he’s clearly been here for a while.” This time, Mandoran turned to the Arcanist, who was ash gray. Or maybe gray-green. In either case, the colors didn’t suit anyone who wasn’t already dead.
Kaylin was not slow. “What are we facing?”
“How well do you fly?”
“Not at all.”
